


Results Delayed

by theinvisiblekangaroo



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblekangaroo/pseuds/theinvisiblekangaroo
Summary: My Secret Santa gift for @whclocked on Tumblr!





	Results Delayed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whclocked](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Whclocked).



And now? 

John set up his camera in an unobtrusive beaker stand and touched the red recording button.  
"She should be here in ... two minutes forty-six seconds, if she's on time, which she is 82.7% of the time," Sherlock stated, his long legs striding purposefully back and forth, back and forth across the floor of St. Bart's laboratory. "Do you have it?" he asked John, whirling to face him.  
"Yyyeah," John answered, doing a quick slap-slap on his jeans pockets and then withdrawing a small black box from his jacket breast pocket. "Yes of course I've got it."  
Sherlock scowled as John handed him the box, glaring at the door and resuming his pacing. "You remember what you're to do?"  
John sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes of course! When Molly gets here I--" He was cut short as the door opened and Molly entered, talking on the phone with someone and pulling on her lab coat. "--I leave. Right."  
John suited words to actions, leaning over to inconspicuously check that the camera was still recording before ducking out the door with a whispered, "Good luck!"  
Molly waved hello to Sherlock while saying, "Yes... Yes, I'll do that right away, Detective Inspector, but it may take a few hours for the machines to test for -- er, okay... Okay... I'll do it right away. Goodbye."  
Sherlock relaxed his insistent stare and approached her. "Whatever Graham has planned will have to wait. I need you for something." He fumbled in his Belstaff pocket, brought out a sheet of paper and said hesitantly, "Er... I need you to listen to this and tell me what you think. There's rather a lot here so it could take a bit."  
Molly's expression showed curiosity and a mild wary surprise, but she smiled a bit apprehensively and said, "Okay." Sherlock took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the crumpled, slightly shaking paper.  
"Dear Molly. Erm... I have much for which I must apologize to you. I... have used you in a cruel and manipulative way to get what I wanted and it was and is completely unacceptable. I am very sorry and it will never happen again. You are important and you do not deserve to be used as a tool for my own ends, and... Er, even though I've explained, in a way, about- about my sister, I know that my actions were inexcusable and thoughtless. I greatly regret causing you pain and I will do whatever, anything I can to make amends for my behavior." He took a deep breath, looked up hesitantly into her eyes and went off-script. "Molly... I ask you to do three things for me which I know I do not in any way deserve. Would you accept my apology and... can you try to forgive me?"  
Molly stared, her mouth open. "I..." She bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, thinking. "I accept, Sherlock, and I will... forgive you," she said quietly, eventually.  
Sherlock let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding for those two minutes, nearly the longest two minutes of his life. "Er... Thank you. Thank you, Molly." He looked at once so relieved and forlorn that Molly reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm.  
"I-- There's more," he said in a low, strained voice. "You know how clumsy I am with emotions, you know I don't do sentiment well. But I had... a kind of sentiment, something, for a long time, inside, and I didn't or couldn't put a name on it because it was unusual and confusing and... loud."  
He swallowed. "But I eventually admitted to myself the label for it. The -- the sentiment, the emotions. I know what to call a few feelings, for some people. I appreciate John and I am very grateful for him. To him. I admire him. He is my friend, my best friend, he told me so himself. I have respect for Lestrade; he is a good man, and he's helped me very much. I have affection for Mrs. Hudson. She is kind." He took a deep breath. Molly listened, her eyes damp, her lips clamped between her teeth, her arms folded. "But you --" His voice softened, deepened. "You are unlike anyone else, Molly. You safeguarded me, you aided me, you were the constant and control in my inane experiment of a life. Moriarty thought you didn't matter. I dare say John, and the others, thought similarly. But no one matters more. I could have done nothing without you. I ... I love you, Molly."  
Sherlock looked up from the floor into her eyes hopefully, anxiously, his verdegris eyes sparkling. "I have only that to give you. You may do what you will with it, but... I would like to be yours. If you want me. I am, of course, much less than you deserve; you are a truly good and beautiful and lovely woman and I have no hope of being all that you could ever want, but I will be yours, if... if you'll have me." 

~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minutes passed as John paced in the hall, fiercely resisting the urge to put his ear to the door and listen in.  
Lestrade strode up to him, scrubbing his hands through his grey hair. "John, mate, have you seen Molly? Where's Sherlock? I've got a case for him, and I need her to--"  
He stopped as John shushed him. "They're in there," John whispered, jerking his thumb in the direction of the laboratory door. "And I wouldn't interrupt him right now if I were surrounded by a SWAT team. Hold off a minute." Lestrade looked at him in confusion. "He's ... well, I think he may be proposing, depending on how well the first part went." John's phone dinged, and he ignored Greg's spluttering double-take as he read, "Come turn this bloody camera off". As he went in, he left the door wide open and Lestrade gazing on in astonishment.  
There in the lab stood one tall, thin detective and before him, nearly engulfed by a long, black coat, one diminutive pathologist -- soundly kissing one other and going at it with a great deal of gusto.  
John retrieved his camcorder, snickering, ignoring Lestrade's half-formed exclamations of disbelief. "Right then, have at it!" he tossed over his shoulder as he exited the room.  
Without removing his lips from his pathologist's, Sherlock stretched one long leg behind him and kicked the door closed, then turned slightly and shouted back, "Test results will be delayed, Grant!"


End file.
